


Next to Never

by Luka z Rivii (wayward_dream)



Series: Heart Day 2020 Prompts [6]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Death, F/M, Grief, Hopeful Ending, Loss, Reincarnation, Stabbing, self-loathing (geralt)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:53:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23442019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wayward_dream/pseuds/Luka%20z%20Rivii
Summary: If you feel so inclined, consider this a prequel for my other fic, To Have and Hold, but it can be read as a stand-alone just like all the others :)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Series: Heart Day 2020 Prompts [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686376
Kudos: 38





	Next to Never

**Author's Note:**

> If you feel so inclined, consider this a prequel for my other fic, To Have and Hold, but it can be read as a stand-alone just like all the others :)

“The stars are beautiful tonight,” you murmured.

“Hm.” Geralt’s monosyllabic response made you smile. The two of you were laying side by side in the grass behind your home, resting after dinner. When you tilted your head to look at him, his eyes were shut, the lines around them soft, relaxed for once. 

You reached out, rested your hand on top of his. Something warm swelled in your chest when he turned it over to lace your fingers together, squeezing gently.

“Are you going to make a wish?” he asked you quietly, turning his head and cracking his eyes open to peer at you.

You hummed thoughtfully. “No, I don’t think so; I have everything I need.” You turned onto your side, pillowing a head on your arm and watching him with a small smile, gently tracing your fingers along his arm. “What about you?”

“I don’t know that I believe in wishes.” Geralt looked back up at the sky, starlight shining on his features and making his hair shine. He was beautiful and you couldn’t help reaching out to run your fingers through his hair. He hummed pleasantly.

“Why ask me if I was going to, then?” you wondered.

“Because sometimes, when I’m with you like this, it’s enough to make me want to hope.” His voice was soft, almost reverent. You leaned over, pressing your lips to his. The kiss was slow and chaste, undemanding. He pulled back, whispered in the space shared between your mouths. “Are you cold?”

“Mm…a bit,” you admitted.

“Let’s go inside and warm up,” he suggested, sitting up and getting to his feet with a lithe grace that you couldn’t help but admire, watching the play of muscles and sinews as he sat up. He held out a hand and you gladly took it, allowing him to pull you to your feet.

“Come to bed with me?” you asked softly as the two of you went inside.

Geralt smiled faintly, pulled a few blades of grass out of your hair as he spoke quietly. “I’d follow you anywhere.” He still held your hand, pulled it to his face to press a kiss to the back of it lightly.

You pulled him to your bedroom, and the two of you prepared for sleep in relative quiet, you changing into a nightgown and him removing his shirt and changing into softer sleep pants you kept there just for when he visited. You laid down and he joined you, pulled you close and kissed you softly. You curled up to him, fell asleep warm in his arms with his nose buried in your hair, tickling your ear.

**~*~*~*~**

You woke before him in the morning, pressed a light kiss to his forehead before deftly slipping free. He grumbled a protest, slitting an eye to look at you in mild offense. You smiled.

“Go back to sleep,” you whispered. “I’ve chores to attend to, but I won’t be long.”

Geralt hummed and closed his eyes again. He buried his face in the pillow you’d been laying on and his muscles went lax. You squeezed his shoulder before changing into your day clothes and going about your morning chores, feeding the chickens and gathering eggs, putting away the laundry that had finished drying, generally getting ready for the day.

You were washing a few dishes at the sink when you saw them gathering in your front yard.

Mostly men, carrying torches that shone sinisterly in the early morning light. Your heart started to race as you cautiously went to the door, opening it just enough to lean out slightly.

“What’s going on?” you asked quietly, hoping to avoid rousing Geralt, not wanting to escalate the situation further.

“Give us the Witcher, Y/N,” one of them growled. “We know you’re sheltering him, playing at being his whore.” He spat on the ground and the one at his side put a restraining hand on his arm, stepping forward. He spoke in a more reasonable tone but you bristled.

“We don’t want to hurt you, Y/N. But wherever the Witcher goes, death and misery is sure to follow. We don’t want him in our village.”

You crossed your arms. “You will not be bothering or harming my lover. If you know what’s good for you, leave now.”

The man’s eyes narrowed at you. “Is that a threat?”

You smiled, but it wasn’t a friendly thing, mostly teeth, and you heard the crowd stir, beginning to murmur angrily. “Consider it a warning, and the only one you’ll get.” You slammed and locked your door, your heart racing as you heard them begin to shout angrily.

“We gave her a chance, but she’s tossed her lot in with him. Let her share his fate!” The call was met by a chorus of cheers and then your window was shattered by a rock. You stumbled away from the door as they began to slam against it, trying to break it down. You ran for the kitchen, wanting a knife, anything to protect yourself.

The door crashed in and you screamed desperately, “Geralt! Run!” as they rushed in, seized you and dragged you out kicking and hollering.

Geralt, roused by the commotion and racing out when you cried his name, emerged from your home just in time to see them take the knife you’d grabbed to defend yourself and stab you in the stomach.

Geralt roared your name, cast Aard and sent everyone flying away from you. He hadn’t grabbed his sword but he didn’t need it, they were only human. Bones snapped under his hands, necks spines broken, throats crushed, those who weren’t snuffed out like candle flames fleeing with terrified cries. He’d hunt them down later, their scents were burned into memory but you–gods.

Geralt dropped to his knees at your side, pressed on the wound over your stomach trying to staunch the bleeding. You whimpered in pain, scrabbled weakly for his hand and squeezed.

“G-Geralt,” you gasped.

“Hush,” he told you. “Conserve your strength, I’ll get you to a healer–”

“Not…enough time,” you forced out. Geralt could hear blood starting to flood your lungs and he squeezed your hand painfully hard.

“Don’t say that. This won’t happen, I won’t _let it,_ ” he snarled.

“Don’t be afraid. People–” you were cut off when you choked on your own blood, gasping and spitting as it bubbled out of your mouth and down your chin. Geralt clutched you tighter, grabbed your hand and squeezed. You were icy to the touch and it terrified him. You inhaled raggedly, looked up at him with glassy eyes; your teeth were stained red when you smiled up at him. “People linked by destiny will always find each other.” You were barely able to whisper the words, so quiet that if Geralt hadn’t had the heightened senses of a Witcher he wouldn’t have heard you.

“Don’t leave me,” Geralt said quietly. He didn’t phrase it as a request, more of an order. You reached up to caress his cheek and he held your hand there, closed his eyes and tried to pretend he couldn’t smell your blood, sense your life force slowly slipping away.

“I never will,” you whispered. “I will find you again, however long it takes.”

Geralt exhaled harshly, the closest he would allow to a sob. “I’ll be waiting when you get back. For you, dove, I’d wait forever.” His lambent eyes glistened with unshed tears when he opened them to look down at you.

Your eyes were blank, your chest no longer rising and falling with ragged breaths. You were….gone.

Geralt pulled your already-cooling body crushingly tight into his embrace, held you and breathed in your scent until it became tainted with the beginnings of decomposition. He forced himself to rise, cradled your corpse to his chest and carried you out of the village, into the woods, far away from those who had taken you from him. He chose a tree, set you on the grass nearby and folded your arms gently over your stomach. 

When he closed your eyes, he could almost convince himself you were sleeping; if not for the absence of a heartbeat, the stillness of lack of breath.

Geralt kissed your cold lips once before laying his cloak over you. Then he began to dig, tearing up the soft ground at the base of his chosen tree with his bare hands. He didn’t mind the pain as his nails tore, as rocks cut his skin, in fact he welcomed it, felt he deserved it for being the cause of your demise. He dug until the hole was big enough, and then he climbed out, gently lowered you into the makeshift grave with his cloak wrapped around you like a shroud. He buried you, then he took his knife from his belt and carved your name into the trunk of the tree along with a jagged cross.

He touched the letters, rested his forehead against the rough bark. He allowed himself three breaths to miss you.

One. _I’m so sorry, dove._

Two. _I already miss you so much._

Three. _Come back to me. I’ll be waiting._

When Geralt opened his eyes, he no longer felt, no longer allowed himself to feel. To do so without you would break him, drive him mad. He stepped away from the tree, turned his back and walked away in the opposite direction.

He didn’t allow himself to look back. The only way he’d find you again was by moving forward.

* * *

It was a lifetime of wandering numb and aimless later that he caught a whiff of familiar scent in a tavern, heard a familiar laugh he could never forget (no matter how hard he’d tried).

Lifting his head, painful hope unfurling in his chest, Geralt spotted you.

Perhaps he hadn’t waited in vain after all.


End file.
